Back to the Beginning
by inspibrain101
Summary: Frodo thought that it was all over. Yeah... No. Somehow, he is back in the Shire, but it all looks a little different. His Uncle Bilbo looks a lot younger! Then along comes Gandalf, with a quest for Bilbo, involving 13 dwarves, a mountain of treasure, and a Dragon named Smaug. And now, Frodo is right in the middle of it! Now up for adoption. Thank you for all your support.
1. Prologue

**I tried posting a prompt a while ago for just a story like this... but apparently we're not allowed to post prompts on fanfiction (even though I've seen plenty of them in my time) so it got taken down. But basically, it goes like this:**

**Through some feat of magic or whatever, Frodo is transported to the Shire and meets a hobbit named... Bilbo Baggins, just as Gandalf comes along to invite him on an adventure. And then, I don't know, he goes on the great Smaug adventure, and a bunch of stuff happens, and... I don't know. But you get the idea? I'm surprised- and kind of disappointed- that I haven't seen this done before. If you know of any stories like this, please please please let me know, because I'd love to see them!**

**In this case, I'm putting Frodo right on top of Mount Doom. Why? Just for the heck of it!**

* * *

Before Frodo had left the Shire- the Shire! How long ago that seemed... almost like a dream... He had thought that the peak of summer was the warmest the world could ever get.

He thought that he had known better by the time he and Sam reached Mordor. The land was scorched, and oftentimes he was surprised that the ground did not catch fire. But here- at the top of Mount Doom- the lava gasped and spurted around him, the mountain shook, steam and smoke flew out the cavernous top, he felt every inch of skin dripping with sweat, and he knew how wrong he was. This place was so hot... so hot...

Frodo could hear Sam calling for him behind him. "I'm here, Sam!" he called, rather weakly.

"Destroy it!" Sam yelled back. He was just as frail as Frodo, after all these long weeks crossing Mordor and climbing the horrible Mountain.

Frodo looked down at the ring hanging off the chain around his neck and fumbled it off. He held it over the edge of the cliff, the ring swinging back and forth, the destroying lava flowing down below like a river.

This was it. Finally, he would be rid of the terrible burden, the wicked, wicked ring, always incessantly calling to him, would be gone! He averted his eyes from the simple gold band, and blocked out its tempting whispers of promises of power. Instead, he stretched out his little hobbit arm as far as it would go, and let go...


	2. A Dream Or A Nightmare?

**_In a hole in the ground, there lived a hobbit..._**

Frodo awoke... Well, he supposed that he hadn't really awoken, but was rather in a dream. What else could it be? He was on his back, stretched out in soft, green grass, and the day was early enough that the stems still clung to the morning dew. The sky was a perfect shade of blue, and perfectly shaped white puffs of cloud hung over head, framing the perfect yellow sun. For once, the air was not tinged with the smell of blood and fire, but of sweet honey and suckle.

He knew this place; it had been so long ago, it seemed, but oh! Frodo knew this place. Which is why it must have been a dream.

It was the Shire.

Just there- over there! He sat up and saw the rolling green hills, small hobbit holes with homey smoke puffing out of the chimneys. It must have been just after second breakfast, because Frodo could see some well-dressed hobbits with their shopping baskets going about their morning business. It was impossible! He had been at the top of Mount Doom! He had been as far from the Shire as he could possibly be for nearly a year now! He must be in the middle of a dream.

He leaned back to take everything in, trying to make this dream last as long as it could before he awoke again.

_Then again, _he supposed, _I could be dead. This might be heaven. Yes, that must be it! I died in Mordor. That must be it! _That answer gave Frodo a surprising sense of peace. Finally, the quest was over! With the destruction of the ring, he supposed that the forces of good had finally won, and Sauron was no more. He supposed that that was a worthy way to die.

_But then, _he wondered, _how did I die? Who else might be here? _He supposed another supposition; he might as well get up and explore this not-Shire. And so he did, relishing the feel of the cool dew against his thick hobbit-feet, and the sweet breeze against his scratched face.

He neared the Shire, and as he did, he could hear the calls of friendly hobbits, the laughter of hobbit-children, and the angry rants of Farmer Maggot yelling at young hobbit-rascals.

_Oh yes, this must be a dream! _Frodo smiled to himself. Perhaps not heaven, these people certainly didn't seem dead. He didn't recognize anyone here. He remembered a few young hobbit friends who had drowned in the river or passed away from illness, and he would've thought that they would be running around here.

He supposed a dream was preferable to death; after all, he was still alive! Frodo's step became just a little lighter at that thought.

Frodo walked along the dirt path he remembered walking down so many times and came to a fork. He always took the right fork to get to Bag end, though he couldn't quite remember why... Oh, yes! The left one led to the Rickety Bridge. Frodo's Uncle Bilbo said that it was a perfectly good bridge in his younger days, but some fool of a hobbit had busted straight through the boards one day, and no one had used it since.

_Oh, why not! _Frodo smiled. He wanted to see as much of the Shire as he could before he woke up again. More likely than not, it would be the last time he ever saw it. He started walking down the left fork of the path.

Wouldn't you know it, it was quite a lovely bridge after all! It was made of planks and took a gentle curve over a bed of yellow flowers, Goldenrods, and was painted a shade of Hobbit-red. Two Hobbit-women in their day wear and bonnets held baskets and chatted as they crossed the bridge. The bridge was in perfect condition!

Frodo shook his head, still smiling, and stuck his hands in his pockets. He started skipping across the little bridge-

**_CRACK!_**

His foot plunged through a board in the middle, and the rest of his body followed shortly thereafter. He landed in the bed of Goldenrods, and a cloud of pollen rose up from the flowers.

Frodo immediately began sneezing.

"Goodness!" a snippy voice gasped. It was one of the Hobbit-women that had been crossing the bridge. Her face was pinched and sour, and her hair brown.

"Lo-" Frodo sneezed. "eya?" Strange, he remembered Lobelia Sackville-Baggins looking a bit more like an old hag. Right now, she looked like a young hag.

"What in Middle-Earth are you thinking, you rascal?" she snapped. "You broke the bridge! What is your name? Out with it!"

"Fro-" Frodo sneezed. "o! Fro *sneeze* o a-ins!"

"Fro?" She sneered. "I certainly haven't seen you around here before!"

Of course she had! The Sackville-Bagginses had been gossiping about his Uncle and Bag End ever since he had come to live in the Shire. Many was the time that Uncle Bilbo had complained about good-old Aunt Lobelia stealing the silver spoons every time she came to "visit".

"Where are you from? Speak up!"

Lobelia's friend tapped her on the shoulder and whispered something to her. The two laughed and walked on, away from the broken bridge and the poor sneezing Hobbit.

Frodo stood up rather unsteadily and did his best to dust himself off, though he was certain that there were mounds of pollen caked in his hair and his clothing. Frodo stumbled away from the bridge and up to the top of the hill, where he knew he would find Bag End. He went up and up and up, sneezing all the way, and attracting several strange looks from passing Hobbits. Finally, he reached the spot he knew he should find Bag End... However, it looked a bit different from what he remembered. He got a strange, sinking feeling, like rather than a dream, this might be a nightmare.

It looked like it was in better condition; newer, if you will. And the door in the side of the hill didn't have that strange mark on it anymore. He tried the front gate; it was a lot less wobbly, as well. He opened it and it swung open without a creak. He nearly tripped over his sneezing as he went up to the door.

Before he could open it, however, someone else opened it for him. A young hobbit, just about his age, maybe a little younger, opened the door. He had light brown, curly hair and a largish nose, and was dressed like a respectable hobbit; in a waistcoat and trousers. He looked very familiar, and, frankly, concerned.

"Are you quite alright?" he asked, worriedly. "I heard quite the commotion."

Ah, his sneezing. Frodo nodded, a few sneezes still coming out.

"Oh, dear! Those goldenrods get you? I get allergies myself sometimes." The hobbit smiled at his visitor.

"Is this- (sneeze) ag (sneeze) end?"

"Yes, yes. This is Bag End. Are you looking for something?"

"No- (sneeze) no." Frodo, through all his sneezing, was a bit confused. "I (sneeze) thought it (sneeze) asn't season- (sneeze)."

The strange hobbit frowned. "Oh yes it is, quite. Summer of 2941."

Frodo stopped sneezing. "Pardon?"

"Summer of 2941. Have you had a bit to drink? You seem a bit confused."

Frodo blinked rapidly. 2941? Last he had checked, it was near the beginning of 3019. This was a strange dream, indeed.

"I'm sorry, what's your name?" Frodo finally wheezed.

The hobbit- finally, with a name to put to the face- stuck out his hand in greeting. "Bilbo Baggins, at your service. Do, please, come in!"


	3. Gandalf Means Me

**Those years I gave in the last chapter, though they might sound a little fake, are the actual years from Tolkien's Middle-Earth.**

**Fun Fact: Bilbo was 50 years old when Gandalf approached him at the beginning of the Hobbit; the same age as Frodo when he left the Shire! 50 years old is still a Hobbit's prime, so rest assured, both Bilbo and Frodo are still quite young. Coming-of-age for a Hobbit is 33, just to put it in perspective.**

**As with everything I write- and everything, I hope, YOU write, I shall try to make this adventure realistic; i.e., an extra person in the company will MOST CERTAINLY change something from the movie/book, though what exactly remains to be seen.**

* * *

The realization hit him like a brick wall. Uncle Bilbo had never shown him a picture of himself when he was younger- in fact, he had only ever seen a glimpse of a sketch. But the hobbit standing before him- it was Bilbo! Bilbo, when he was Frodo's age. It explained a lot! The Shire, the bridge, Lobelia, Bag End...

This was starting to seem less and less like a dream.

Somehow, he found himself sitting in the sitting room, and his Uncle- future Uncle, Frodo supposed, was handing him a cup of tea.

"Now, then. What's your name?"

"Frodo." He was glad that he could complete a phrase without sneezing.

Bilbo nodded politely. "How do you do, Frodo? Would you like breakfast? I'm sorry this place is a bit untidy, but I don't often expect visitors." It was hobbit custom to be polite to guests.

Frodo shook his head. "Oh, no, that's fine. I... already ate." He stood up a little hurriedly. "I'm sorry... I really should be going."

Bilbo looked concerned again. "Are you sure you're quite alright?"

"No, no, no, I'm fine! I just remembered... my Uncle is waiting for me! Yes, I've got to go..." Frodo started a little too soon... it was almost as if he really had been hit by a brick wall, and simply collapsed on the ground, out cold.

Bilbo Baggins remained sitting on the sofa, hands clasped together. "Oh dear, oh dear..."

* * *

Having properly situated that poor hobbit in a comfortable guest-bed so that he might recover, Bilbo sat at his front porch for his daily smoke.*

Bilbo considered him self to be proficient in blowing smoke rings, and doing so contributed to a peaceful feeling that he looked forward to every afternoon. He leaned back contentedly.

Suddenly, he reared back and coughed a little as one of his smoke rings hit him in the nose, rather unexpectedly.

He looked up to see a great figure- almost like a mountain! blocking out the sun. He had to blink a few times to make out the figure. It was an elderly male- much too large to be a hobbit, quite likely a human! He had a long beard and bushy eyebrows, a wooden walking-staff, gray robes and the most ridiculous pointed gray hat.

Unsure of how to handle this- to think, two unannounced visitors in one day! Bilbo was unsure whether or not he should get up. He rocked back and forth on his bench, and finally opted to remain seated.

"Good Morning." he nodded cordially, hoping that he would go on his way. He didn't have anymore room in his hole for visitors, let alone one so large!

"What do you mean?" the man's voice was old and gravelly.

"Do you wish me a good morning, or mean that it is a good morning whether I want it or not?"

Bilbo was confused. It was a common theme this good morning.

"Or that you feel good on this morning, or that it is a morning to be good on?"

Bilbo took the pipe out of his mouth. "All of them at once, I suppose..." he stuttered. "I'm sorry, who are you?"

The man looked a bit... miffed. "Well, obviously you know my name, though you forget that I belong to it! I am GANDALF! And Gandalf means..." he sighed. "Me."

* * *

***This user does not condone the use of tobacco or alcohol, and only includes these substances in the story to stick to the story line.**


	4. Paradox

The irony of it all! Frodo wakes up in a bedroom- then a guest bedroom, belonging to his Uncle Bilbo more than 25 years before he was even born- to find that it was, in fact, his future bedroom.

Like most of the things in this strange world- by now, Frodo really doubted that it was a dream- it was newer, less lived-in, than the bedroom from his present.

Frodo knew a lot about magic from his time with Gandalf- even more so this past year- but the topic of "what to do if you get trapped in the past" never really came up. However, Gandalf had once explained something called the "Grandfather Paradox" to him that put him in mind of this particular situation.

"If I were to go back in time," Frodo muttered, remembering. "And kill my grandfather, would I then cease to exist?" Frodo had only been about 15 at the time, (such a long time ago!) and had not quite understood the whole story, too confused by the "I would never be born, thus could not go back in time and kill my grandfather, thus I am born, thus I go back in time and kill my grandfather..." cycle to ask Gandalf to elaborate.

Gandalf... Frodo could begin to remember more now, and wished he couldn't. That was right, Gandalf was dead, and had been for several months.

Perhaps... Yes! If this was the past, then Gandalf wasn't dead yet! He could ask him for help! Gandalf must know how to help him. It might take a while. He would go to Rivendell, the elves might know where to find him...

Who was he kidding? Gandalf was Gandalf. The only way Frodo could find him is if Gandalf wanted him to find him-

"No, no, no! We do not want any adventures here today! Thank you! Good Morning!" Frodo heard his Uncle Bilbo's voice run angrily through the hall, from the front door, which promptly slammed. Frodo pulled himself out of the bed and crept into the hallway. His Uncle Bilbo was in the process of locking the door rather hastily, with his pipe and the mail in his hands.

"Are you alright?" Frodo asked. This time, he was the one concerned he might be dealing with a lunatic.

"Shh!" Bilbo had his ear against the door. "Do you hear that?"

Frodo took this as an invitation and walked down the hall closer to the door.

"Is it... scratching?"

Bilbo went to look out the window, and jumped back as something large peered in.

Large and grey.

"Was that...?" Frodo squeaked.

"Gandalf? Quite." Bilbo shivered. "I'm just glad he's gone."

That was odd. Bilbo had always welcomed Gandalf, and treated him like an old friend, ever since he had moved into Bag End. Frodo wanted to make for the door. Desperately, he wanted to throw it open, and run calling for the wizard. But he just had to ask something...

"What did he want?"

Bilbo looked surprised. What respectable hobbit wanted to know what an adventuring wizard was up to? Adventures were nasty things, made you late for dinner. Which was why, of course, he had sent Gandalf on his way. To think! A wizard asking him to go on an adventure...

"Wait. Did I say all that out loud?" Bilbo realized he was so used to living alone that he had gotten in the habit of talking to himself. Oh dear.

Frodo's eyes widened. "So... you haven't been on an adventure before?"

Bilbo, now rather embarrassed, stammered out, "No, no! Of course not! Why on earth would I go on an adventure?!" He laughed half-heartedly.

So this was where Frodo had landed. Before Bilbo had even gone on his famous quest!

Which led him to a new dilemma. Bilbo loved to recount tales of his adventure- how the trolls turned to stone, and he crossed the mountains in the middle of a thunder battle... but he had never sat down and given Frodo an entire account.

He didn't even know how Bilbo had gotten into the whole business in the first place!

What if that was it? What if he had been supposed to accept Gandalf's offer a minute ago? The Grandfather Paradox Gandalf told him about implied that changing the past was possible. What if Frodo's being here had made it so Bilbo never went on a quest?


	5. A Mess Of Dwarves

Frodo hurriedly thanked his Uncle for his hospitality, and got out of Bag End. He needed to find Gandalf; that was the only thing he was certain of!

Frodo wasn't quite sure where his feet were taking him, but now he recognized some of the houses and farms he passed. He was leaving Hobbiton.

Frodo supposed that was the thing to do; he really had been away so long, it didn't feel right, sitting at home - future home. Frankly, it didn't feel much like home anymore.

Frodo tried to think of all the things that might be changed by his Uncle Bilbo not going on his adventure with the dwarves. They (the dwarves) might have all died before they reached the Lonely Mountain. They might have been eaten by mountain trolls...

THE RING!

Frodo's heart nearly stopped as he thought of the evil ring. He hated to think of it, but he knew that his Uncle Bilbo must have run into Gollum and found the ring somewhere along his adventure.

The adventure that he might never go on now.

So he might never find the ring.

Thanks to Frodo.

Darn.

Frodo sat down hard on a fallen log by the side of the road, groaning.

"What am I to do?" Frodo groaned.

He had no idea what consequences might come of this! This sudden realization confirmed his decision. He stood up from the log and made an about-turn.

He was going to make his Uncle go on the quest, by golly, if he had to hogtie him and drag him to Erebor himself!

* * *

Twelve Dwarves.

GAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!

Bilbo could barely comprehend. What had been a nice enough dinner of chicken and greens was suddenly a rowdy gathering of Twelve Dwarves.

And a wizard.

GAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!

Bilbo wiped the nervous perspiration from his brow with a pocket handkerchief as the dwarves sang and laughed and wheeled food from his pantry.

He had heard names thrown around: Bifur, Ori, Balin - a lot of dwarvish names that rhymed. He hoped they wouldn't be staying around long enough for him to have to learn them all.

"No, no! Do NOT wipe that… oh dear!" Bilbo groaned as the chaos raged around him. It was futile to run back and forth, trying to maintain some sort of order, yet he tried.

Gandalf- GARRR! Gandalf! The old wizard was standing off to the side, an amused grin fluttering about his face. Him, this all started with him! Bilbo had no idea what exactly this was, but it was Gandalf's fault!

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK!

Bilbo was fairly certain that the knock came from the front door.

He shook his head. "No no no no no..." Not another surprise guest! He weaved through the mess of dwarves towards the front door. Oh, the parlor! It was in absolute shambles!

He opened the door. "I'm sorry but I CANNOT keep another person in this house!" Bilbo blinked and shook his head when he saw the hobbit standing on the front porch. "Frodo? You're back. Er, I mean..."

Frodo looked as though he were about to say something important, but stopped himself. "Uh, Bilbo! What... you have guests?"

Bilbo shook his head in despair. "I was sitting down to supper, when all of a sudden there are dwarves coming out of my ears! They've been making an absolute mess of things." He wrung his hands anxiously. Hopefully, another Hobbit on the scene would be able to help him out of his predicament.

"Dwarves?" Frodo echoed.

"Yes, yes, dwarves. Dwarves! In Bag End!" Bilbo cried.

"That's grea - I mean, that's..." Frodo coughed. "Awful! Is there anything I could do to, er, help?"

Bilbo tried not to faint from the relief. "Oh, thank you, yes!" He opened the door a little wider for his new friend to come in. Before he closed the door, he looked both ways out the door, in case there was anyone else trying to sneak in.

Well... it seemed that Frodo wouldn't have to hogtie Bilbo and drag him up to the Lonely Mountain! Looking around at the horrendous state of the normally immaculate hobbit hole, Frodo recognized the sight of a respectable dwarf-mess. It was almost physiological: dwarves were messy. And noisy. He could hear an entire pack of them running in and out of the kitchen, slowly convening around the dining room table, a feast in tow.

Frodo couldn't recall Bilbo ever being particularly picky over the state of the Hobbit hole - he remembered the Sackville Bagginses often turning up their noses at the cluttered state of the large home - but this mess was almost enough to bring grief to the most slobbish hobbit.

It felt like home!

Frodo laughed and shook his head. "Dwarves! All..." he counted. "Twelve of them!" He counted again. "Twelve?" He thought there were thirteen.

Bilbo wiped his forehead with a handkerchief. "And to think!" he laughed bitterly. "I haven't had a single guest for months - not even for tea!" he turned to Frodo again. "Except for you, this morning, of course. Are you better? You really did seem out of sorts when you left."

"Oh, yes!" Frodo answered with a smile. "I just needed some fresh air to clear my head."

"Fili, Kili..." an old, gruff voice could be heard just above the ruckus. Literally above: for Gandalf towered above it all, crouching so as not to hit the ceiling. "Dori, Ori, Nori..." he was counting the dwarves. "Bifur, Bofur... Bombur." He nodded politely to each one in turn. "Oin and Gloin, Balin and Dwalin... You're not a dwarf!" Gandalf whirled around facing the new arrival.

Frodo jumped in surprise. "Gandalf!" he exclaimed.

"Yes, that is a name I am commonly associated with." Gandalf huffed, pipe in hand. "And who are you?"

"Oh, this is a friend of mine, Frodo." Bilbo stepped in and explained, almost apologetically. "I didn't know he was coming - or, that anyone was coming, to be honest."

Gandalf leaned down to get a better look at the hobbit. "Strange magic, indeed..." Blue smoke rings came out of his mouth. "Where do you come from?"


	6. Note

**I am so, so grateful for all of you who have enjoyed this story. Truly, I am absolutely astonished, and very pleasantly surprised by the reception this story has received. You readers deserve a great story, written by a determined author.**

**Which is why I am putting up this story for adoption. You may have noticed that I haven't updated this story in forever. I'm probably the world's worst procrastinator and I feel absolutely awful about it. **

**I'm not putting this up for adoption because I don't care about it- quite the opposite, actually. It really does feel like putting up a child for adoption. I love this story, and I feel like at this time I cannot be the writer this story deserves- that you deserve.**

**If anyone out there feels up to the challenge, I will gladly lend you my unfinished work.**

**Thank you for all of your support.**


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